Scraps
by You-Can't-Catch-Me
Summary: This was going to be a oneshot. A Boy and his Dog kind of fic. The story starts when Victor is at the cuddly age of one, and goes until he's thirteen. Discontinued.
1. Meeting Scraps

"Dear, where is Victor?" asked William Van Dort, to his wife, Nell.

"What is it with you, thinking I should always know where he is?" Nell snapped in response.

"He's only just turned a year-"

"Confound it, William!" shouted Nell. "That timid little mouse of a boy needs to learn to defend himself!"

"But he could get hurt," pointed out William. "Mauled by a stagecoach or something."

"What do you care? He already looks like roadkill! Takes after you, he does."

"Good God," marveled William. "I don't see how you can be so-"

But he was interrupted. _Clang, clang_! It was the doorbell.

"You go get it," mumbled William.

"I'm tired, darn you!" shouted Nell. "You get it."

"Why don't we both go," William reasoned. _After all,_ he thought, _it could be the town mortician reporting our son had been trampled by a horse._

"All right," growled Nell. And the two of them proceeded slowly to the front door. _Clang, clang! _The doorbell rang again.

"Hold on!" Nell shouted for the umpteenth time, whether or not the person at the door could hear her. "Haven't you got any bloody patience?"

"Mind your temper, dear," William reminded his wife. He grabbed the handle and opened the door.

Standing in the doorway was a frightened looking little boy with dark hair and dark eyes. He was wearing a suit that looked like it had once been white, but was now covered in muddy water. His white knee socks and shoes were caked with mud. He was trembling all over. Yes, this was a boy they knew very well.

"_Victor!_" Nell shrieked, in the usual way she talked to her son. "Where have you been?"

Victor's dark eyes grew wider than usual, and he toddled into the house, although it was clear he was trying to run. He made for the parlor as fast as he could.

"No, son," William said, stopping the little boy in his tracks. "Not like that."

"I don't like him in there even when he's clean," Nell said haughtily, looking down at the little boy. "Speaking of which…" She grabbed the boy by the collar and hoisted him into the air. Victor was too terrified to struggle.

"I don't think he likes that," commented William.

"I'm not going to touch him when he's so filthy," Nell retorted. She sighed heavily, and headed to the nursery, carrying Victor the same way all the way up the stairs.

Soon enough, she came back downstairs, with Victor in a new outfit. This time, she was holding him normally.

"Fan," Victor said, flapping his arms.

"No," Nell snapped. "I've told you for the millionth time! You have plenty of other toys, and my fan is not a good one."

"Tea, dear?" William asked, emerging from the parlor.

"Fine," Nell responded, heading into the parlor with Victor. She sat on the divan, and set Victor on the floor. He crawled, out of habit, to his silver rattle, and hit it on the floor in strict rhythm to see what kind of sound it made.

"Will you cut that out?" asked Nell impatiently.

Victor paused, and looked up. "Rather me piano?" he asked, referring to the baby grand piano in the other room.

"On second thought," said Nell. "Keep with your _quiet _obnoxious noisemaking." Victor smirked.

"So, son," William asked Victor. "How did you get so dirty? And what were you running from?"

Victor looked up once again, his eyes wide. "Monster," he whispered, and began to tremble.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Nell scolded the little boy. "There's no such thing as a monster!"

"Monster," insisted the toddler. He stretched his arms out to the side, and bared his teeth. "Big monster. Smelly, hairy monster."

"You are a silly boy," Nell told Victor.

"Oh, it was probably a horse, son," William said to Victor. "I used to be frightened of them myself."

"Don't encourage him!" screeched Nell, becoming very annoyed with the men of the house.

Suddenly, a very strange thing happened. A muddy little puppy came bounding into the parlor, and event which caused Nell Van Dort to boil over.

"_William!_" she shrieked. "Don't tell me you forgot to close the front door!"

"I thought the breeze would be nice," admitted William.

"This rug is _ruined!_" cried Nell, throwing up her hands.

"_Monster!_" howled Victor, and he crawled behind the divan, and began to cry helplessly. The puppy perked his ears, and ran behind the divan to greet Victor. Victor's screams sounded like the whistle of a train.

Nell and William looked in the direction of their crying toddler.

"Monster?" Nell asked confusedly. "_This _is the monster?"

"Oh, Victor," William said, smiling kindly behind his moustache. He picked up his scared little son "That's no monster. He's only a puppy." William set Victor down near the excited little dog. Victor whimpered a bit, and the dog licked his pale face. The tears began to roll again.

"_No eat me!_" he wailed. "_No eat me!_"

"That mongrel is _not _going to eat you," Nell spat, growing quite annoyed with nearly everything.

"Yes," William added. "That's just how doggies give kisses."

"Kisses?" Victor asked, wiping away his tears. "Doggie loves me?"

"Yes," William agreed. "I think he probably does."

Upon those words, Victor inched carefully toward the excited puppy, and gave him a hug. The dog licked his face again, but this time, he laughed.

"_William!_" Nell screamed. "Now he's attached to that filthy animal!"

"Well," William reasoned. "At least he's not frightened of it."

"It's one thing to not be _frightened_ of something," Nell answered angrily. "It's another to be _in love _with it!"

The dog jumped up on Victor's chest, and licked him all over. Victor was laughing so hard, he had to gasp for air, and his face was turning red. Once again, he was thoroughly coated in mud.

"Just look at him," William said. "Look at how happy he is."

"No," Nell replied sternly, as if reading her husband's thoughts. "We are not keeping that dog."

"He could stay outside," negotiated William. "That way, Victor will spend plenty of time outside, and the dog will, too."

"Yes, but how will we _feed _it?" asked Nell.

William seemed puzzled. "I don't know," he admitted. "Table scraps?"

At that, Victor looked up. "Scraps?" he asked, as he always did when he heard a new word.

"Oh, no," Nell growled. "Not again." Nell and William knew exactly what their son did when he had learned a new word. He repeated it over and over, trying it out all different ways. Of course, this drove his mother crazy.

"Scraps," Victor said again. He tried it in a whisper. "_Scraps._"

"Oh, shut up, you," Nell said to the little boy.

"_Scrrraps,_" Victor tried in a low growl.

"So," William asked. "Can he keep it?"

"Scraps!" Victor yelled, in perfect imitation of his mother.

"All right!" Nell shouted. "He can keep it!"

"_Scraps!_" Victor screamed, in a pitch as high as he could muster.

"_That's enough!_" Nell hollered back at him. Victor didn't say anything else.

_Clang, clang! _The doorbell rang.

"Oh, who could that be?" Nell asked in an annoyed tone. She hurried to the front door, and peered through the front window. Suddenly, she looked back at her husband. Her face was pale.

"Who is it, dear?" William asked.

Nell lowered her voice to a whisper. "_It's,_" she paused, and swallowed. "_The Everglots._"

"Well, what's wrong with that?" William asked. "You've always wanted to have them over for tea."

"They look angry," explained Nell. "And they've showed up unexpectedly. They've also brought their baby, that troublesome what's-her-name."

"Victoria," corrected William.

"_I don't care what her name is!_" Nell shouted. "Just get Victor and the dog out of sight!" William obeyed, knowing that when it comes to social events, the Wrath of Nell Van Dort could be more threatening than the Wrath of God.

"Lord and Lady Everglot!" exclaimed Nell, while opening the door. "And of course little Miss Everglot. What a surprise!"

The Everglots continued to frown. That is, except for Victoria. She was struggling away from her mother with all her might, occasionally taking a gasp for air.

"Do come in," said William, indicating to his wife that he had successfully hidden Victor and his puppy.

"Thank you," grumbled Finis Everglot, and he waddled inside, followed by his wife, Maudeline and the baby.

"If I may ask," William asked. "Why have you come to call?"

"We shall tell you in the parlor," Maudeline replied haughtily. And The Van Dorts quickly led them there. The Everglots sat down. Maudeline set Victoria down on the floor. Victoria gave another gasp, and looked helplessly up at her mother.

"Don't mind her," Maudeline muttered. "She's still getting used to her corset."

There was a long silence, only being briefly interrupted by Victoria's occasional gasping. Suddenly, Finis stood up, and pointed an accusing finger at the Van Dorts.

"Your son," he accused. "Is a vandal!"

"_What?_" exclaimed the Van Dorts in unison.

"We saw him," said Maudeline. "He was throwing rocks at our house."

_Tap, tap, tap, tap. _Victoria had found Victor's silver rattle, and was tapping it repeatedly to see what kind of sound it made.

"Victoria!" Maudeline scolded. "Go play with something else!" Victoria gasped, and nodded obediently. She left the room.

"This _has _to be a mistake!" cried Nell. "Victor wouldn't do anything of the kind!"

_Plink, plink, BOOM!_ Victoria had moved on to the piano.

"Victoria, you naughty girl!" Maudeline shouted. "Come here at once!"

"How old is she?" William whispered to his wife.

"She was born exactly a month after Victor," Nell replied, proving her never ending ability to keep up with the town's gossip.

Victoria had entered the room. She was now crying.

"You are _never _to go near that again!" Maudeline scolded her daughter. Victoria screamed at a pitch that could have potentially been heard by an animal. "Good heavens, child! What are you carrying on about now?"

"No I can breathe!" wailed Victoria. "Head hurts!"

"Now," Finis interrupted. "We expect some kind of explanation for your son's behavior."

"It couldn't have possibly been Victor," William said. "He can't throw more than two feet. Also," William paused. Nell blushed. "He's terrified of rocks."

"Terrified of rocks?" Finis repeated.

"I've never heard of anything so preposterous!" exclaimed Maudeline.

"He thinks they're going to kill him," Nell admitted. "That a pebble has potential to break his leg."

"Well," said Finis. "How do you explain the gray suit? The boy who was throwing rocks wore a suit just like the one your boy wears."

"Victor was wearing a white suit," said William.

"Which turned out to be a mistake," said Nell rolling her eyes. "Because he got it all muddy from-"

"Scraps!" Victor cried, trying the word out in his own excited voice. He ran into the parlor, his puppy behind him. The two of them left a trail of mud behind them. Both Finis and Maudeline Everglot's jaws dropped.

"What impropriety!" Maudeline shouted. Victoria began to laugh, and clap her little hands.

"_I thought you said you hid them!_" Nell hissed.

"I didn't know they could get back in the house from the garden!" William replied in a nervous whisper.

"Puppy!" exclaimed Victoria, getting down from her mother's lap, and toddling toward Victor and the dog.

"Victoria, don't go near them!" instructed Maudeline. "Come here this instant!"

Suddenly, Victoria's eyes, which had looked like a soft and gentle gaze a minute ago, turned into an angry, cold glare.

"I will not," Victoria declared. Suddenly, the puppy jumped up on Victoria, and the two toddlers laughed.

Nell stood up, her face bright red. "_Victor William Van Dort!_" she shouted. Victor stopped playing, and looked at his mother. Even at a year old, he could tell when he was in _deep _trouble.

"Victor William?" questioned Finis.

"_This _is your son?" asked Maudeline.

Victor took a few muddy steps toward the Lady, and stuck out his tiny, grubby hand. "Pleasure to meet you, sir," he said. William flushed, and Maudeline looked astonished.

At this point, Victoria was deliriously happy, which annoyed her mother considerably.

"You like him dog?" she asked her mother between giggles.

"Stop laughing, you foolish girl!" demanded Maudeline. Victoria obeyed, and sat still. Victor's eyes widened, and he began to tremble.

"She's a girl?" he asked, timidly. His parents nodded. The boy shrieked, and tried to hide under the loveseat.

"What is the meaning of this foolishness?" Finis bellowed. Nell blushed again.

"He's afraid of girls," said William.

"And why, may I ask?" Finis asked. Nell blushed an even deeper color. She was terribly ashamed of her son.

"He's afraid that he'll get-" William began.

"Don't you _dare _finish that sentence," snapped Nell. Even so, William mouthed to Lord Everglot, despite the impropriety, "_pregnant._" Finis looked shocked, maybe even a bit amused.

Victor had begun to come out from his hiding place, and he ventured near Victoria.

"There's no reason to be frightened of girls," Nell assured him unconvincingly.

"So," William said, completely randomly. "The point is this: our son didn't throw rocks at your house. Isn't that right, Victor?"

"_Yeowch!_" Victor yelped in response. Everyone looked over to see why. He had poked Victoria's corset, and she had bitten him on the finger. Victoria, being not quite a year old, didn't have all of her teeth, but had a firm, strong bite. Victor looked stunned and a little frightened, but he didn't cry.

"Very well," Finis said.

"Very well," Maudeline repeated, picking up her baby, who was still baring her teeth at Victor.

"Goodbye," called William. He shut the door.

Nell was already screaming at Victor.

"How _dare _you!" she shouted. "You will never cause trouble such as that ever again! You will also never talk to Victoria Everglot! Understand? If you do, I will spank you _so hard, _it will impact your ability to have _children!_" With that she stormed out.

Victor was already crying. The energetic little puppy seemed a bit subdued as well. To make him feel better, William sat down across from his little boy.

"So," he asked. "What are you going to call your new friend?"

Victor brushed a stream of tears off his face with his sleeve, and looked up at his father, seeming happy all over again.

"Scraps!" he exclaimed. The puppy jumped up and licked his face. _This, _William thought, _is going to be unforgettable._

**Phew! This was originally going to be a oneshot. Sorry for the long chapter. Please review!**


	2. Sick

**Yay! New chapter! Please R&R!**

"_Mother! Father!_"

A wail came from the room of Nell and William Van Dort's two-year-old son.

"It's not even light out yet, Victor!" called Mrs. Van Dort. "Go back to sleep!" In reply, came a moan, and a whimper.

Scraps, Victor's dog came bounding into Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort's bedroom. He began to bark very loudly, over and over. Then, the little dog growled.

"I think something's wrong, dear," Mr. Van Dort commented.

"That dog and that child together are pure noise!" grumbled Mrs. Van Dort. In response, Scraps growled, barked, and ran off in the direction of his master's room. A few minutes later, Scraps returned to Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort's room, barking again.

"_All right!_" shouted Nell. "I'll get up!" Mr. Van Dort, following his wife, got up as well. Scraps began to run to Victor's room, and the parents followed as fast as they could.

When they reached Victor's room, Scraps sat on his haunches in the middle of the floor and whined. Mrs. Van Dort was first to reach Victor's bed.

"William," she said, quietly for once. "You might want to have a look at this." William hurried to the tiny bed, and knelt down beside his wife.

"My God," whispered Mr. Van Dort.

It was quite a sight. Victor's tiny body was paler than usual, and a bit green. His eyes were wide, and he trembled all over. Perspiration dripped from his little face. Tears filled his eyes, although he wasn't crying.

Scraps, being the faithful friend he was, stopped whining, and jumped onto Victor's bed, and licked his face.

"Scrapsie?" Victor asked. The dog replied with a bark, and another kiss on the face. The toddler gave the little dog a hug around the neck. "Thank you." Then, Victor looked up at his parents. He immediately began to cry.

"What's the matter, son?" Mr. Van Dort asked. "Are you not feeling well, Victor?" In response, Victor curled up into a fetal position and began to wail.

"My tummy," Victor sobbed. "Not feel so good."

Normally, Mrs. Van Dort would correct her son's grammar, but this was an emergency. So instead, she yelled at her husband.

"_Get a bucket!"_ she shrieked. _"Get a bucket!"_

"On my way, dear," Mr. Van Dort replied frantically. He ran off to meet his frantic wife's demands.

Mr. Van Dort soon returned with the bucket, but found his wife standing outside Victor's room instead.

"What took you so long?" she snapped.

"I didn't take long at all," Mr. Van Dort replied exasperatedly. "I was only doing what you asked me to."

"Didn't take long, indeed," Mrs. Van Dort said mockingly. "He's yucked three times. That's long enough for me." She paused, and sighed. "I'm going to get the doctor. You stay with Victor."

Mr. Van Dort cautiously made his way into his little boy's room. Scraps was still on his bed, cheering him up. Victor had more blankets on his bed now, and it was hard to see his little trembling body. He walked over to the toddler's bed, and knelt down beside it. He looked out the window, and he could hear his wife yelling at the new stagecoach driver, Mayhew.

"How're you doing, Victor?" he asked. He thought maybe talking to the boy would make him feel better.

"Sick," Victor replied, as if that was answer enough.

"I _know _you're sick," his father said. "But _besides_ that, how are you?"

"Cold," Victor responded. "Cold and hungry."

Mr. Van Dort laid his hand on his son's sweaty forehead. "You don't _feel _cold," he remarked. "In fact, you feel hot as blazes."

Victor groaned. "Still hungry," he whined.

"Well, there's not much we can do about that," said Mr. Van Dort, almost laughing.

Victor furrowed his little brow. "You give me food," he negotiated. "I won't get sick."

"I'm not sure that's a promise you can keep," Mr. Van Dort replied. "When your mother comes back with the doctor, he'll tell you what you can eat."

Victor's eyes grew wide. "_Doctor?_" he squealed. He pulled the extra blanket over his head, and began to cry.

It was perfect timing. Mr. Van Dort heard the front door open, and, once again, his wife yelled at the new stagecoach driver.

"_Mayhew!_" she screeched. "Silence that _blasted _coughing!"

"So, as I was saying, Mrs. Van Dort," said a new voice: the doctor's. "Many of the other children around here have the same thing. I can't imagine that your son's is any different. But I _will _have a look at him."

"Thank you, sir," Mrs. Van Dort replied. They were coming up the stairs now. Mr. Van Dort slipped out of the room while Victor was busy crying.

"How is he, William?" Mrs. Van Dort asked.

"He's better, dear," he responded. "He's still in quite a state. I was having a conversation with him, and that's probably why he was able to keep his stomach under control."

"Don't be ridiculous!" scolded Mrs. Van Dort. "Having a conversation with a two-year-old. Of all things!"

"Ahem," the doctor cleared his throat. "Shall I have a look at your son?"

"Of course," Mr. Van Dort replied. He opened the door for the doctor.

When the door opened, Victor was still crying beneath his blankets.

"Not feel so good," he moaned.

"Of _course _you don't feel well," snapped Mrs. Van Dort. "You're sick, and besides, you've upset your stomach by making _yourself_ upset first."

"What is that dog doing in his room?" the doctor asked.

"Scraps is his dog," replied Mr. Van Dort. "That dog has been following Victor ever since it was a puppy."

"The dog can't stay in his room right now," the doctor said.

Mrs. Van Dort looked _a little _concerned. "But Scraps is his best friend!" she exclaimed.

"Best friend or not, it cannot stay in your son's room right now," the doctor replied. "Dogs attract germs. Now, let me look at your son."

With that, Mrs. Van Dort yanked the blankets off the bed and revealed Victor, curled up in a fetal position again.

"Ah, yes," the doctor said. "This is _exactly _what the other children were like." Mrs. Van Dort held her son while he struggled, but soon he got tired and fell asleep.

The doctor scribbled something on a notepad. "Give him a bath in ice. Feed him only chicken broth, and _no _dairy. The Everglots made that mistake with Victoria, and the consequences were _very _unpleasant."

"Thank you, doctor," said Mr. Van Dort. "I'll pay the bill." He and the doctor headed downstairs, chatting all the while.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Van Dort sat up in her son's room, rocking him as if he were a baby. She looked down at the sleeping boy.

"How'd you get to be such a little mess?" she mused.

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After her husband left for work, Mrs. Van Dort grumpily realized she was stuck with a sick child. Staying home with Victor was usually not a problem; it was actually quite simple. She would feed him, take him to the market while she did her shopping, let him play with Scraps in the garden, get him a light lunch, put him down for a nap, get him up, let him play outside with Scraps some more, and by that time, Mr. Van Dort was usually home, and it was dinner. But, she had _no idea _how to take care of a _sick _child.

So, Victor had a cup of chicken broth, and got sick six times. After that, he fell asleep. Scraps was being quite a nuisance, constantly whining and scratching at Victor's bedroom door.

"Stop that, you stupid mongrel!" scolded Mrs. Van Dort. "You'll scratch the paint off the door!" Scraps sat on his haunches and whined.

"You can't go in there," she stated. Scraps growled.

"Don't you act like a wild animal to _me!_" she shrieked. Scraps whined again.

This went on for at least an hour. Finally, Mrs. Van Dort lost her patience with the little dog.

"_All right!_" she screamed. "_I'm sick of you!_" She flung open the door to Victor's room, and Scraps bounded in. Victor looked as if he had been about to nod off to sleep, but when he saw his friend, he sat right up, for the first time that day. A little color went to his cheeks. As Mrs. Van Dort watched from the door, she couldn't help but smile.

"Scrapsie!" Victor cried, giving his companion a hug. Scraps licked his face.

But, just like that, Victor began to cry.

"I thought you forgot me, friend," he sobbed. "Nobody's wanted to play with me since I got sick." Scraps gave him a reassuring kiss on the face. Victor laughed, and got out of bed. He and Scraps began to tumble about on the floor in their usual way, and soon, Victor barely looked sick at all.

And it was then that Mrs. Van Dort realized that there _just might _be something special about that dog.


	3. The First Photograph

**Here's another new chapter. Enjoy!**

"Look at the camera, Victor!" called Mr. Van Dort.

"Stop looking so petrified!" shouted Mrs. Van Dort.

Three-year-old Victor couldn't help but be afraid. He was standing in front of a strange looking device, and he knew a bright light would flash in his face in a matter of seconds.

"I can't _believe _it!" Mrs. Van Dort bragged to nobody in particular. "Our son is having a _photograph _taken of him! We'll be the talk of the town!"

"Yes, it is exciting," agreed Mr. Van Dort. "Victor will be the first person to have his picture taken in the entire town."

Victor, however, was less than thrilled.

"Mother," he complained. "This suit itches."

"Too bad," Mrs. Van Dort replied. "We got that sailor suit for you in London, and you're _not _taking it off!"

Mr. Van Dort was now standing behind the photographer. "Victor, look over here!" he called. Victor turned his head to look at his father.

_Poof! _The camera snapped, and the flash of light got Victor straight in the eye. The little boy screamed, and began to run as fast as he could.

"I'm blind!" he moaned, crashing into a tree. "Help me, I'm blind!"

Mrs. Van Dort ran over to her son. "You are _not_ blind!" she shouted, grabbing Victor by the collar and lifting him into the air. "Stop squirming, and get back over by the camera!"

"_No!_" Victor called, flailing about wildly. "No! I'm not going back! I'll go blind! No! No, no, _no!_" With that, he managed to escape from his mother's grasp. He fell to the ground like a rock, and screamed all the way down.

"Confound it, William!" Mrs. Van Dort screamed, walking over to her husband. "What are we going to do?"

Mr. Van Dort furrowed his brow, and then smiled. "I know _exactly _what to do," He talked in a hushed manner with the photographer, and he ran outside.

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Mrs. Van Dort had tried several more times to get Victor to cooperate, but nothing would get him to do so. Eventually, she Van Dort gave up, and let Victor howl until she had a headache.

"Is your father ever coming back?" she asked Victor, whether he was listening or not.

"_No!_" Victor screamed. "_No!_"

Victor seemed to say "no" to everything he was asked. So, Mrs. Van Dort came up with an idea to amuse herself.

"Will your father refuse to buy me any more furs?" she asked.

"_No!_" Victor screamed in response.

"Will I not end up obscenely rich someday?"

"_No!_"

"Do I not deserve to be a queen?"

"_No!_"

"Will you ever have children that will disgrace the family name?"

"_No!_"

"Am I as fat, ugly, and fish-smelling as people say I am?"

At that, Victor stopped screaming, and looked up with a small smile.

"Maybe," he said quietly. He began to run, and his mother's temper rose. She began to chase him.

"_Why, you filthy, ungrateful-!_"

But her curses and screams were interrupted by a cheerful bark. Victor stopped running, and his mother stop chasing him. A familiar little dog ran to greet his master, and lick his face.

"Scraps!" exclaimed Victor, happily laughing at his pet. Mr. Van Dort was smiling.

"_William!_" shrieked Mrs. Van Dort, but she couldn't find words for her anger. Mr. Van Dort knelt down, and put his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Now that Scraps is here, are you going to behave?" he asked.

"Yes, of course!" Victor said between laughs.

"This means a lot to your mother," Mr. Van Dort explained.

"I know," Victor replied.

"Good boy," Mr. Van Dort said, patting Victor on the head. "Now go and have your picture taken." Victor nodded, and went back to his spot in front of the camera, with Scraps at his side.

"A picture of Victor and his filthy animal!" Nell exclaimed. "What kind of photograph is _that? _What on earth is that going to be like?"

The photographer lifted his head, and smiled. "I know what we can do, Mrs. Van Dort," he said quietly, and ran off.

"Where is he going?" queried Victor. He was starting to look a bit bored.

"He's probably getting some props for your picture," responded Mr. Van Dort.

"Props?"

"Yes, props. They'll make your photograph look better."

Victor poked at the backdrop. "What's this?"

"It's a backdrop," replied Mr. Van Dort.

"What's it for?"

"It's supposed to make you look like you're outside."

"Why?"

"It makes the photograph look nice."

"Why does it have to look nice?"

"So your mother will want it in the house."

"When will I be big enough to play the piano?"

"Next year, perhaps."

"What is the meaning of life?"

"Forty-two."

"_William!_" Mrs. Van Dort screeched. "Wrong answer, you idiot!"

"Why is Father an idiot?" Victor asked.

"_Shut up!_" Mrs. Van Dort snapped.

"He's just curious, dear," reasoned Mr. Van Dort.

"He's annoying, that's what he is," muttered Mrs. Van Dort.

Just in time, the photographer came back, carrying a wooden hoop and a stool that was almost as tall as Victor.

"Here you are!" exclaimed the photographer, setting down the stool next to Victor. He handed Victor the hoop. "Hold this, please. Can you get your doggie to jump up here?"

"Yes," Victor replied. He patted the stool several times, and Scraps jumped up. "Mother doesn't like it when Scraps jumps on the furniture."

"I imagine," said the photographer, glancing at Mrs. Van Dort. "Does your doggie know how to do tricks?"

Victor's response was immediate. "Play dead!" he shouted, pointing at Scraps. The dog obeyed, and was doing a perfect impression of death.

"Um…not _quite _what I had in mind," said the photographer, trying to suppress a laugh.

"Only trick," Victor replied with a shrug.

"Well, he looks excited enough," assured the photographer. He went back to the camera.

_Poof! _He took the picture, but this time, Victor stayed put, and Scraps did as well. Mrs. Van Dort paid the photographer, and they were getting ready to leave, when a frighteningly depressing voice came from the doorway.

"It will be wonderful, Finis," bragged the voice of Lady Everglot. "Our little girl will be the first person in town to have her photograph taken!"

"Quite so," replied Lord Everglot. "That is, unless those fish merchants got here-"

But, before he could say anything more, they arrived in the studio.

Lord and Lady Everglot looked just as cranky as ever. But, little Victoria was bouncing with excitement, shouting, "Me first! Me first!" repeatedly, in her high voice. She was wearing a beautiful white dress with lace trim, and a little bonnet that covered her brown hair, to match.

"Good day to you, Lord and Lady," greeted Mrs. Van Dort, the obvious scorn showing in her voice.

"How are you?" asked Lady Everglot, returning the contemptuous tone. The two husbands did nothing but stare.

"_Puppy!_" Victoria squealed, skipping over to Scraps to pet him. Scraps wagged his tail and smiled as she pet his back.

"Victoria!" cried Lady Everglot. "Get away from that dog!"

Victoria, only being three, had been taught the ways of a young lady very well. She curtsied to her mother.

"No, thank you," she replied. "I should very much _perfer_ to stay here with Master Van Dort's _aminal, _if you would be so kind as to let me do so."

"Absolutely _not_!" cried Lady Everglot, snatching up the little girl, who immediately breached her ladylike demeanor, and began to scream.

Mr. Van Dort took Victor by the hand, and began to lead him out. Scraps followed, and soon enough, Mrs. Van Dort did the same.

"She was quite polite," commented Victor.

"Who, Lady Everglot?" asked Mrs. Van Dort.

"No," Victor replied, shaking his head. "Their little girl. Until she started screaming, anyway." The walk home was short, and soon the family was at their house. By then, it was time for Victor's afternoon nap.

After Victor was sound asleep, Mrs. Van Dort came downstairs to the parlor, and sighed deeply as she sat in a chair.

"Long afternoon," commented Mr. Van Dort.

"Indeed," replied Mrs. Van Dort replied. She pondered on something awhile, and then spoke her mind.

"Do you think the Everglots have plans to marry off Victoria?" she asked her husband.

"I don't think so," he replied, with little thinking done at all. "Maybe Victor could even be a candidate someday."

"Oh, don't be _ridiculous!_" cried Mrs. Van Dort. "I mean, not that it wouldn't be nice. We'd be at the level of aristocrats, and we'd be _classy_!"

Mr. Van Dort leaned closer to his wife. "I hear," he murmured, and looked around, as if Lord and Lady Everglot would appear at any moment. "That the Everglots are having financial issues. They need money." He paused, and stretched. "Well, it's much too early to think about having to marry off our son."

**Well, an abrupt ending. Please review. Sorry for taking so long!**


	4. Piano Lessons

**Chapter four is finally here! I am so sorry for the delay.**

Victor Van Dort was normally an incredibly well-groomed four-year-old, but today, he was being even more careful than usual. Today, he would have his very first piano lesson.

"_Victor!_" Mrs. Van Dort screamed. "_You're going to be late!_"

"Coming, Mother!" he called, in as loud a voice as he could muster. He was a naturally quiet child. He sat down on the floor, struggling with his shoelaces. He always had trouble with those. He furrowed his brow and tried to concentrate, but upset himself even further. Thinking that there was _no way _in the world he could tie his shoes, he began to whine, and kicked the heels of his shoes against the floor. His faithful dog, Scraps, looked incredibly concerned.

Mr. Van Dort walked into his son's room.

"Anything wrong, Victor?" he asked. "Your mother is getting angry."

Victor pounded his fists on the floor in anger between words. "Can't…tie…my…_shoes!_"

"Is that what the noise was about?" queried Mr. Van Dort. He smiled down at his son. "I thought that maybe a herd of elephants had gotten into your room."

Victor looked at one of the quilts on his bed. It had a group of elephants leading each other around in a circle, trunk with tail.

"The only elephants in here," Victor replied, calming down. "Are on my quilt. But no _real _elephants. Just me and Scraps." The little dog barked and wagged his tail at the sound of his name.

"I'd best help you with your shoes," Mr. Van Dort reminded himself. "Otherwise we might see clouds of steam coming out of your mother's ears." He helped Victor tie his shoes.

"Thank you, Father," Victor replied politely. Mr. Van Dort helped his son up, and they walked down the stairs.

"Almost to the carriage, dear!" Mr. Van Dort called downstairs.

"Carriage, bosh!" cried Mrs. Van Dort, sticking her head out from the parlor entrance. "We're not going anywhere!"

Victor and Mr. Van Dort walked down the stairs.

"Not going anywhere?" queried Mr. Van Dort. "But you were throwing a royal cow about us being late!"

"Late for meeting the instructor!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Dort. "We want to look like a proper family, for Lord's sake!" She walked in closer to her husband, to avoid letting their son overhear what was being discussed.

"And also," she continued in a whisper. "Keep that dog away from Victor while he's having his lesson."

"I'll make sure of that," replied Mr. Van Dort. "I'll lock him up in Victor's room."

But their murmurs were no match for Victor's keen hearing. The child was once again filled with rage.

"_No!_" Victor cried, tears welling up in his wide, dark eyes. He sat on the floor, yanking at his father's pant leg, and his mother's skirt. "You can't lock up my dog! He's a good boy! He's only supposed to be locked up when he's naughty, or on special occasions!"

"This _is _special," replied Mr. Van Dort, gently prying Victor's little hands off his pant leg. "You're going to have your very first piano lesson!"

"B-But-!" Victor stuttered. He was crying hard now.

"No buts from you!" snapped Mrs. Van Dort, yanking her skirt. Victor wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"Is this when steam comes out of your ears?" he asked.

"_What?_" shrieked his mother.

"Steam!" Victor said more enthusiastically, gesturing wildly. "From your ears! Like Father said." Mr. Van Dort flushed, and Mrs. Van Dort shot him a dirty look, but decided to scream and curse at her husband later. Mr. Van Dort sent the glare over to Victor, who jumped up, and hid behind the divan (which he was still small enough to do).

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

"_Quick!_" Mrs. Van Dort hissed. Mr. Van Dort shot off like a bullet, and Mrs. Van Dort grabbed Victor out from his hiding place by the arm, causing him to shriek quite loudly.

Mr. Van Dort came darting down the stairs.

"Hidden the dog, dear," he panted.

"Good," replied Mrs. Van Dort ungratefully. She opened the door.

Standing before them was someone they had not expected at all. Instead of a stuffy old instructor, they saw a young girl before them. They knew her quite well, and were quite surprised. She was wearing an itchy looking navy dress, wide-brimmed hat, and she carried a briefcase in one hand. She looked up from under her hat and smiled.

"Miss Emily?" Mrs. Van Dort asked in puzzlement. Emily set down her case, and curtsied.

"Mrs. Van Dort," she acknowledged. "Mr. Van Dort." She knelt down. "And you must be Master Victor." Victor blushed, and nodded.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Emily," he said with a little bow. Emily giggled, in her usual, airy way.

"We weren't expecting you," stated Mrs. Van Dort.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Emily realized, picking up her case. "I'm the music teacher you hired."

"Of course," replied Mr. Van Dort, leading Emily into the house. "The piano is just around the corner. It's so large, it needs its own room."

Emily took off her hat, and stepped into the house. She followed Mr. Van Dort to the room with the piano. When both Victor's parents had left, the room was quiet. Emily sat on the left side of the bench, and Victor sat on the left.

After only a half hour, Victor could already play two songs, but it was clear to Emily he wasn't concentrating.

"Is something wrong, Victor?" she asked.

Victor pondered this for a moment, but came up with an idea. He crossed his legs tightly, and scowled.

"I have to use the bathroom," he replied. He got up from the bench, and ran upstairs.

_What a peculiar child, _Emily thought. Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort stepped into the room.

"Where has he run off to?" demanded Mrs. Van Dort.

"He's in the bathroom," Emily replied. She decided to change the subject. "He's a fast learner. He's already learned two songs. Simple ones, but songs nonetheless."

"His hands are built for it," commented Mr. Van Dort.

As suddenly as Victor had run off, there came a shrill bark from upstairs.

"_William!_" growled Mrs. Van Dort.

Victor and Scraps came bounding down the stairs, both of them looking equally happy.

Mr. Van Dort was astonished. "But the door was locked!" he exclaimed.

"Lockpick," Victor replied triumphantly, holding a small piece of pointed metal in his hand. "Scraps is coming to my lesson."

With Scraps at his side, Victor learned a total of ten songs in the entire lesson.

"He's a prodigy," murmured Mr. Van Dort. "His fingers fly over those keys."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" scoffed Mrs. Van Dort. "He'll _never _impress anyone with his silly piano skills!"

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Months later, Victor could play the piano like a musical genius. Scraps eventually learned Victor's songs so well, he was able to sing along, in a rather doglike manner. Whenever he was sad, Victor now had two places to retreat whenever he was sad: Scraps, and his piano. Little did he know the bad news around the corner.

"Victor," Mrs. Van Dort called one dreary winter evening after dinner. Victor, now almost five, darted from the garden, which was blanketed in snow, where he was playing with Scraps, into the parlor. He noted that his mother didn't sound as screechy as usual. Instead, he found, she sounded solemn. He found his parents sitting in the parlor, both of them looking miserable.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Your teacher," his father replied, with a swallow. "Miss Emily. She-she's not coming back."

"But why?" Victor asked, his eyes filling with tears. Emily, beside Scraps, was his best friend.

"Not now," Mrs. Van Dort responded. "Go ready yourself for bed."

Victor nodded, and his eyes spilled with tears. After he had gotten ready for bed, he stood by the stairs, listening in to his parents' conversation. He only got bits and pieces, though, such as, "Poor Emily" and "Knife" and "Terrible murder".

_Murder, _he wondered. He had never heard that word before. He ran to his father's study, and found his dictionary. However, the book was far too heavy for his skinny arms, and besides, he couldn't read. He sat on the floor and sobbed. It didn't matter to him anymore what "murder" was. He just knew that Emily was gone.

Scraps walked over to him, and whined quietly. Victor cried harder, and buried his face in the dog's soft fur. There was nothing he could do but cry.

**There's Chapter four. And what of EMILY? Please review my delayed update!**


	5. School Days

**Chapter five is here at last! Sorry for the delay, but it was testing last week. Enjoy!**

Victor couldn't eat today. He was so nervous, he thought anything he ate might end up on the floor, which would enrage his mother, even more than the fact that he wasn't eating.

"Eat up, you skinny twig of a boy!" Mrs. Van Dort shouted. "This is your first day of school, and you need it!"

School. Victor feared the very word, and shuddered when he heard it come out of his mother's shrieky mouth.

_Father would say I don't have to eat, _he thought grumpily. He poked his eggs a bit with his fork, and put his head on the table. He heard Scraps panting beneath him, and thought of an idea. But, being the smart boy he was, he would wait.

"Do I _have _to go to school?" Victor whined.

"Don't be _ridiculous!_" she scoffed. "Of _course _you have to go to school! Why, if your father heard you say-"

_Clang, clang! _The doorbell rang. Mrs. Van Dort ran to answer it, and Victor put his plan into action. He quickly put his plate on the floor, and listened to Scraps' happy eating sounds.

"William!" Mrs. Van Dort cried. "You're supposed to be at work!"

Mr. Van Dort shrugged. "Couldn't miss my boy's first day of school," he replied.

Victor got up from the table, and Scraps followed.

"Finished my breakfast, Mother," Victor said hurriedly. Mrs. Van Dort looked at him quizzically, but said nothing.

"Now, don't forget to come back for lunch," Mr. Van Dort reminded his son. "And then, you have to go back to school."

"I won't forget," Victor said.

"What a good, big boy you are!" exclaimed Mr. Van Dort.

Victor looked up at his father, in a way that made him look like the parent, and his father, the child.

"I'm five," Victor explained. "I'm really not that big, Father."

Mr. Van Dort looked taken aback.

"Of course," he said. "Now, off with you."

Victor nodded, and picked up his tiny knapsack. He pushed open the front door, and walked to school.

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Mrs. Van Dort was so angry, she was close to asking Lord Finis Everglot for one of his prized pistols. Scraps had done _nothing _but howl ever since Victor left.

"_Shut up!_" she yelled at the dog from the parlor. She was now doubly irritated, between the howling dog, and the fact that her husband was not yet home for tea.

_Speak of the devil, _she thought, as Mr. Van Dort opened the front door.

"God, woman!" he exclaimed, walking into the parlor with his hands over his ears. "What in heaven's name have you done to Scraps?"

"It's not what I've done," she muttered. "It's what Victor's done. I mean, he left the house for more than five bloody minutes."

Mr. Van Dort opened the back door, and let Scraps out. He returned to the parlor moments later.

Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort pondered as they drank their tea. Finally, Mr. Van Dort spoke up.

"How do you think Victor is doing?" he asked.

"I think he's been murdered," Mrs. Van Dort replied. Her husband sat up straight.

"Excuse me?" he queried. "Did you just state that you think our son has been _murdered_?"

Mrs. Van Dort rolled her eyes. "Not _literally_," she said. "But just think about it."

"About what?"

"About Victor!"

"He's a fine boy."

"True. But does he play any sports?"

"No, he doesn't."

"Is he quiet and shy?"

"Indeed, he is."

"Does he turn sick when he hears one of those nasty jokes that little boys tell?"

"Oh, yes."

"Is he very strong?"

"No. He's so skinny, he is."

"Is he _smart_?"

"What kind of question is that? He's the smartest boy I've ever met!"

"Exactly," replied Mrs. Van Dort. "Those boys will torment him to no end."

Mr. Van Dort sighed. "I've never understood you."

"He should be home soon," commented Mrs. Van Dort. "You should let the dog in."

Mr. Van Dort got up from the loveseat, and opened the back door. Scraps bounded in, and sat down at the front door, and whined. Soon enough, he began to bark happily, which was a sure sign that Victor was on his way home.

Victor came inside, and dropped his knapsack. He went into the parlor, and sat in his favorite armchair. His eyes were wide, and he was trembling as if he had seen a ghost.

"How was it, Victor?" Mr. Van Dort asked.

All of a sudden, Victor burst into tears. He cried so hard, his entire face turned red.

"It was _terrible!_" he cried. "The kids were so mean to me!"

"Told you," Mrs. Van Dort muttered to her husband.

"They called me 'Butterfly Boy'!" Victor sobbed, wiping his face on his sleeve. "And they threw paper at me! One boy even tore up my drawing! And all the girls laughed at me!"

"_All _of them?" questioned Mrs. Van Dort.

"Well, almost all," Victor whimpered, calming down a bit. "That one girl, she didn't laugh at me. But she didn't talk to me either!" He started bawling once more. Scraps whined, and walked next to him. He looked at the dog, got down from his chair, and started stroking Scraps' back. His eyes fluttered, and he stopped crying.

"That girl," he murmured. "She only looked at me a few times. She'd look, then blush, then look away. I think her name is V-" He stopped talking, and fell asleep on the floor.

"He stayed up too late," commented Mrs. Van Dort. "And got up too early."

"I think he'll pass on lunch," Mr. Van Dort said, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder.

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Victor had slept through lunch, and was very hungry. A paper ball got stuck in his hair, and a few boys behind him laughed.

_Clunk! _It was an ink bottle this time, and not quite empty. Victor was suddenly was filled with anger. He clenched his fists, and stood up.

"_Stop it!_" he cried. "_Stop being so mean!_"

"Master Van Dort!" bellowed Pastor Galswells. The grumpy clergyman was in the process of finding a new teacher, and was teaching the children himself. Victor immediately sat back down.

An enthusiastic bark came from outside. Victor recognized it at once.

"_Scraps,_" he whispered. Scraps kept barking. Pastor Galswells was more than irritated.

"I'm going to kill that dog!" he shouted.

"Wait!" Victor piped up. "That's my dog, sir!"

"Then silence it at _once,_ Victor William Van Dort," the Pastor grumbled through clenched teeth. Victor got up from his seat, and went out the door, only to appear seconds later, with Scraps at his heels.

"Pastor Galswells!" yelped Victor. "The church is on fire!"

After the children were safe and outside, Victor was cheered. All his sadness from earlier that day was swept away, and he felt strong and proud.

Unfortunately, that didn't last long enough.

**End of chapter. Review.**


	6. A Troublesome Tooth

**Chapter six is finally here. Sorry for being so darn lazy. R&R!**

Six-year-old Victor ran all the way home from school. His knapsack bounced along, but he had tears in his wide, dark eyes. He darted through the door, found his mother in the parlor, and started to cry.

"I'm going to die!" he moaned. His middle-aged dog, Scraps, had heard all the noise, and had come to greet his young master.

"What on earth-?" his mother began, but noticed what her son was doing. "_Victor! _Get your finger out of your mouth!"

"But it's my mouth that'll make me die!" he whimpered. "My tooth!"

"Your tooth?" asked Mrs. Van Dort. "What's the matter with it?"

"It _wiggles!_" Victor cried. "It's _moving!_"

"My God," muttered Mrs. Van Dort. "If your teeth are falling out at this age…" She peered into her son's mouth, but never got to finish her threat. His teeth were perfect, except for one of the bottom teeth in the front.

"That was the first tooth you grew," she remembered. "You made such a racket at night! But there's nothing wrong, Victor."

Victor closed his mouth so fast, he nearly bit his mother. "There isn't?" he asked.

"Nothing at all," replied Mrs. Van Dort. "You _are _going to lose that tooth, but it's perfectly normal. Your baby tooth will fall out, and a brand new big one will grow in."

Victor wiggled his loose tooth, and his mother scowled.

"Don't do that!" she scolded. "You'll make me sick! Why, if you could see yourself, you'd ruin my carpet!"

"Sorry," Victor apologized. He ran away to play with Scraps in the garden.

Mr. Van Dort arrived home at five o'clock, as usual. Mrs. Van Dort was sipping tea in the parlor.

"Out in the garden again?" asked Mr. Van Dort.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Van Dort. "I think he's catching butterflies. Anyway, his tooth is loose." Mr. Van Dort raised his eyebrows.

"Which one?" he asked.

"The first one he ever had," responded Mrs. Van Dort. Mr. Van Dort smiled.

"Ah, yes," he said, with a look of remembrance on his face. "The one he cried so much over. Did he get into a fight at school?"

"No," replied Mrs. Van Dort. "He's six, William. He's supposed to lose teeth."

Victor and Scraps ran inside, interrupting the conversation.

"I caught a pretty one!" he cried, waving his special butterfly jar proudly.

"Well, let's have a look," said Mr. Van Dort.

It _was _a pretty butterfly. It was a pale blue, with faint markings that looked like flowers.

"Very nice," commented Mrs. Van Dort, looking mildly interested.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Victor asked.

"He always says they're girls," muttered Mrs. Van Dort.

"She _is _a girl," Victor insisted.

"Fine, then," replied Mr. Van Dort. "I heard you have a loose tooth."

Victor scowled. "I'd rather not talk about it," he said.

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Victor got absolutely nothing done at school. He didn't even practice writing his letters, he was so busy wiggling that loose tooth. He was so busy wiggling his tooth, he didn't even look for butterflies at recess, or try to climb his favorite tree. He walked all the way home from school with his finger in his mouth.

Victor walked through the front door, not even bothering to say hello to his mother. Scraps barked happily, and followed his master. Victor just kept walking, with his finger in his mouth, until he reached the back door. He went outside to look for butterflies. It was a nice day, and Victor just sat on a tree stump. He was no longer quite so out of focus, and decided to ignore his tooth for awhile, and keep up with his fascination.

"Do you think there's a scientific name for butterflies, Scraps?" Victor asked as an orange butterfly flew by. In response, Scraps made a low, groaning sound.

"I guess I'll just have to find out myself," Victor replied. He sighed, and wiggled his tooth again. His eyes followed the butterfly until it was nothing but a speck in the distance. Scraps yawned, and Victor noticed.

"Are you bored, Scraps?" he asked. Scraps licked his paw, as if that were a response. Victor smiled at his dog.

"You want to play?" Victor asked. Scraps began to bark happily. "I'll get your ball, then." Victor walked into the house, and found Scraps' ball. This was not hard to do, because his room was as neat as a pin. He ran back out to the garden, and Scraps wagged his tail, and ran up to Victor. Victor threw the ball, and Scraps ran after it, jumped, caught it in his mouth, and then brought it back.

Now, this went on for quite some time, and Victor was beginning to grow bored himself. He sat back down on the tree stump, and Scraps whined.

"No, Scraps," Victor said. "I'm not playing ball anymore." Scraps barked, and rolled on his back.

"Scraps!" Victor laughed. "I said, 'I'm not playing ball anymore', not, 'And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, shall be lifted - nevermore!'" Victor not only loved butterflies, but was becoming quite appreciative of poetry, and that line from Poe was Scraps' alternate command for, "Play dead".

Scraps began to howl once more, and Victor wiggled his tooth in thought.

"I'll play a different game with you," Victor said finally. He got up from the tree stump. "Bet you can't catch me!" Scraps began to chase after his master, but he was so fast for his age, that it wound up Victor chasing him.

Scraps was a smart dog, and even a dog could get tired of watching a little boy stick his finger in his mouth. That's why he had formulated a plan.

Scraps had Victor running fast, and in a circle. And when Scraps ran to the tree in the garden, Victor followed. But, when the little dog took a sharp right turn, Victor didn't stop.

_Crash! _Victor ran into the tree. He tasted blood, and began to cry. His mother ran outside, and saw Victor on the ground.

"What happened here?" she asked.

"I ran into the tree!" Victor sobbed. "Now, I'm going to die! There's blood in my mouth!"

"Let me see," muttered Mrs. Van Dort. Victor opened his mouth, and Mrs. Van Dort peered inside. She once again found herself smiling.

"What is it?" Victor asked.

"It seems," Mrs. Van Dort explained. "That you have lost a tooth."

Victor clasped his hand to his mouth. He felt with his tongue, and sure enough, there was a gap. He removed his hand, only to see the little tooth in it.

And of course, Victor fainted.

**Haha, like the ending? Indeed, a clever and predictable way to make little Victor lose a tooth. Review!**


	7. Christmas

**Chapter seven is here! And more chaos from Victor and Scraps is guaranteed! I dearly hope there is someone actually reading this.**

"The red one or the green one, please, Victor!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Dort.

Victor had just finished fastening his favorite blue silk ascot, which he was not yet very good at doing. He scowled at his mother.

"But I look bad in red!" he whined. "And I hate green!"

"For God's sake, Victor," groaned Mrs. Van Dort. "It's Christmas! Now, either choose a color, or I'll choose it for you!" Victor muttered something to himself, but took off the blue ascot. He grabbed the green one.

"That's a good boy," said Mrs. Van Dort. Scraps, who was sleeping on the floor, woke up and barked.

"Not _you!_" cried Mrs. Van Dort. "You're a filthy old beast!" Victor rushed over to Scraps, and gave him a hug.

"Scraps _is _a good boy!" Victor insisted. "He's not filthy, I just gave him a bath! And he's not a beast, he's a dog!" Victor hesitated for a moment, and his voice got quiet. "And I don't like to think about Scraps as being old. He's almost my age. I'm seven, and he's only six."

"Fine, then!" Mrs. Van Dort replied. "But, mind you, six is middle aged for a dog."

"What's going on up here?" Mr. Van Dort called from up the stairs. "Mayhew's brought the carriage around, and you are… well, I honestly haven't the foggiest about what you're doing."

"Mother was being mean to Scraps!" Victor cried.

"Being mean to Scraps," muttered Mr. Van Dort. He turned to his wife. "Honestly, dear, if you want to insult someone, don't insult the dog." Victor couldn't help but laugh. Mrs. Van Dort looked angry.

"Go back out to the carriage, William!" she demanded.

"On my way, dear," replied Mr. Van Dort. He rushed back outside.

Victor looked at his green ascot, and scowled. He tied it around his neck, saying the steps out loud.

"Fold it in half," he muttered. "Over the shoulders, through the loop…tighten!"

"Will you quit that nonsense?" snapped Mrs. Van Dort.

"It helps me," replied Victor.

"It annoys _me,_" retorted Mrs. Van Dort.

"Maybe you shouldn't disparage me, Mother."

"Little boys shouldn't use such big words."

"I'll use what words I like."

"You're _unbelievably _close to a thrashing, Victor William Van Dort!"

At the sound of his full name, Victor decided to stop. He sat down on the floor, and began to cry softly.

"I'm sorry!" he sobbed. "I'm only cranky because I stayed up all night!"

Mrs. Van Dort looked down at her son. "Now why did you do a thing like that?" she asked.

"I wanted to see Father Christmas!" he cried. "None of the other kids have seen him, and I wanted to be first! I was waiting to hear him come down the chimney!"

Mrs. Van Dort didn't quite know what to say. After all, her husband had told Victor about Father Christmas in the first place! However, an annoyed call from her husband turned out to be fortunate.

"Are you ready yet?" Mr. Van Dort called from downstairs.

"Yes, of course we are!" shouted Mrs. Van Dort. "Victor, get up off the floor. We're leaving."

Victor wiped his nose on his sleeve, and Mrs. Van Dort made a face of disgust.

"Where are we going?" Victor asked as he got up.

Mrs. Van Dort turned on her heel, and cocked her eyebrow.

"You mean I didn't tell you?" she queried. Victor shook his head. But Mr. Van Dort answered Victor's question almost immediately.

"Dear, we're going to be late for the Everglots' Christmas festivities!" he called from downstairs.

"The Everglots?" Victor asked with a gulp. "You mean, that tall, scary lady, that crablike man, and their daughter in my class?"

"You are rude, rude, _rude_, Victor Van Dort!" screeched Mrs. Van Dort. "The Everglots are _nobles. _Do you even know what that means?"

"I'm shy, and I'm seven, Mother," Victor sighed. "I'm not stupid."

"And," Mrs. Van Dort continued. "The same rule applies as always: no doing _what?_"

Victor sighed once more. "No talking to Victoria," he replied. "I _know,_ Mother. Besides, you know I don't like girls!"

"We haven't got all day!" Mr. Van Dort called from downstairs.

"Coming, William!" snapped Mrs. Van Dort. "Come on, Victor!" Victor scrambled to his feet.

Slowly but surely, the Van Dort family made their way down to the carriage. Victor paused a moment, and his eyes grew wide.

"Scraps!" he exclaimed. "We forgot about Scraps! What are we going to do? If we leave him here, he'll bark and cry! Please, Mother, Father, can he come with us?"

"Absolutely _not!_" shouted Mrs. Van Dort. "The last time that dog was around the Everglots, _you _disgraced _our _name!"

"I was only a baby!" Victor protested. "And Scraps is so much more docile now!"

"Don't use such complicated words!" scolded Mrs. Van Dort.

Victor paid no attention to his mother, but turned to his father instead.

"Please, Father!" he begged. "May he come with us? He can stay in the carriage!" Mr. Van Dort turned to his wife.

"Well, that sounds reasonable," he said. "If Scraps stays in the carriage, he won't bother anyone." Mrs. Van Dort muttered to herself, but nodded her head. Victor clapped his hands, and ran back into the house.

"The dog stays in the carriage," Mrs. Van Dort said to no one in particular.

"I know, dear," replied Mr. Van Dort. "But Victor will have to leave periodically, you know."

"And why would that be?" asked Mrs. Van Dort.

"Do you want the seats to be ruined?" asked Mr. Van Dort.

Scraps and Victor bounded out the front door. The dog obediently jumped into the carriage, and Victor followed. Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort looked at each other, and then got in. Mayhew tugged the reins, and the horse began trotting.

"I still can't believe _I've _been invited to visit the Everglots!" boasted Mrs. Van Dort.

"We're _all _invited," corrected Mr. Van Dort. "The whole town is invited."

"The whole town?" Victor asked. "Is their house really that cavernous?"

"_Big words, Victor!_" shrieked Mrs. Van Dort.

"It's perfectly fine for Victor to supplement his vocabulary," protested Mr. Van Dort.

"Not you too!" Mrs. Van Dort shouted.

Victor, even at seven, knew when to change the subject.

"Why are we taking the carriage?" he asked. "The Everglots only live across the street."

"To show that we _can_," Mrs. Van Dort said arrogantly. "And besides, I don't like walking."

"We're already at the house," mumbled Victor. "It wouldn't have been that much of a walk."

The entire Van Dort family got out of the carriage. Scraps tried to follow, but Victor stopped him.

"Sorry, friend," he said, giving Scraps a pat on the head. "But you have to stay this time." Scraps whined, but obeyed. As Victor walked up to the door with his parents, he turned around, and waved to Scraps.

The Everglots' butler had obviously seen the Van Dorts and their son approaching, and quickly opened the door. They stepped inside, looking around at everything. Victor hadn't seen anyplace so big in his life. He just stood there, staring.

"Come on, Victor!" called Mrs. Van Dort after a few minutes. "I can hear people talking!"

"Leave him, dear," said Mr. Van Dort. Mrs. Van Dort nodded, and she and her husband walked in the direction of the activity.

It wasn't for a while that Victor noticed his parents were gone. He looked around for them frantically, when something caught his eye: the largest piano he had ever seen. It was quite dusty, as if nobody had bothered to touch it in years. He cautiously stepped toward the piano. It was so huge, he was almost afraid of it. Eventually, he reached it, and touched a few keys.

"This piano is unbelievably out of tune," Victor muttered to himself.

"That's because nobody's played it in years."

At the sound of a new voice, Victor whirled around. He suddenly gasped. The speaker was Victoria Everglot. He remembered what his mother had said, and covered his mouth with his hand. Victoria looked at him quizzically, and took a step toward him.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Victor took a step backward, but tripped over the piano bench. Victoria giggled.

"You're from my school, aren't you?" she asked. "Isn't your name Victor?" Victor was stunned, both from his fall, and from a girl asking him so many questions, but he nodded.

"Why are you covering your mouth?" Victoria queried. At that point, Victor suddenly thought of something. He took his favorite fountain pen out of his pocket, and then looked around for a piece of paper. Then, he looked at his hand. He quickly wrote on his palm, and showed it to Victoria.

"'I'm not allowed to talk to you.'" she read. "That's it?" Victor nodded.

"Victoria!" called another new voice. "Who are you talking to?" Victoria's eyes widened.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "It's my mother!" She turned in the direction Lady Everglot's voice was coming from.

Victor suddenly remembered that Scraps was out in the carriage. A feeling of dread came over him.

_I hope the carriage isn't ruined, _he thought as he ran outside.

To Victor's relief, nothing had gone wrong. Mayhew was contently smoking his pipe, and Scraps jumped up to the carriage's dirty window upon seeing his master. Victor gave Scraps a good petting, and let him out. Scraps trotted around happily for a few minutes, happy to be out of his confines.

But all of a sudden, the little dog stopped, and lifted his nose into the air. He gave several sharp barks, and took off like a bullet. Victor realized with horror that Scraps was heading straight into Everglot Manor. Victor paused, and sniffed the air.

"_Turkey,_" he whispered, and broke into a run, calling, "Scraps, come back!"

Victor ran through the doors, but Scraps was nowhere to be found.

_He's got to be in the main dining hall, _Victor thought as he ran. _But where could that possibly be?_ As he turned the corner, he saw a flash of white. He was finally catching up with his dog. But it was too late now. Scraps had finally made it into the dining hall.

"Look, Mother!" Victoria cried.

"Fetch my musket!" shouted Lord Everglot.

"What the-" began Mrs. Van Dort.

"Scraps!" called Victor.

Scraps jumped up on the table, and sank his teeth into the massive turkey. Despite his size, he picked it up, and began to run away.

"No!" screamed Victor. He ran up to the giant table to grab his dog, but slipped and fell face-first into a dish of mashed potatoes.

"_Food fight!_" shouted a boy from Victor's class. Immediately, the entire population of the town was either gathering up food, or hiding under the table. Food was flying all over the place. Victor soon had a bowl of pea soup on his head, and even shy Victoria was throwing dinner rolls for self-defense.

"Out of the way, you ninny!" cried Lord Everglot, shoving Victor aside. He had a pistol in his hand, which he fired at the ceiling. The pandemonium stopped. Children were grabbed. Scoldings were issued. Middle names were used. And it was all Victor's fault.

**Haha, I could totally picture that scene! Please review.**


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